Vol 3 Chapter 30 – Boyhood: Autumn at Thirteen・Part 8

The quickest first-aid for bleeding is pressure—honestly, that works just as well on wounds of the heart.

When sadness hits, nothing beats a warm embrace. In my previous life, Father, Mother, and Sis caught me in their arms; in this one, my parents do the same. Even Eliza stops crying if I hug her, so body heat must be the best coagulant there is.

“Erich…?”

I hold Mika—my friend—tight and say what must be said. This warmth will not change, no matter what.

“Mika, who are you?”

“Eh?”

“What are you, Mika? An academy auditor? A migrant neutral-kind?”

It’s the same question: if he’s a different species, if I assumed he was a boy—does that break our friendship?

I don’t think so. Sure, it’s huge. Just as my puberty’s begun, his gender shift will start soon. He’ll be masculine when male, feminine when female.

Yet Mika is Mika. His self stays put; the friend who shared the giddy highs of boyhood doesn’t vanish.

“Wrong, Mika. You’re a friend—my friend. Aren’t you?”

Traits may change, but roots don’t. I chose him as a friend because I wanted to.

I step back and meet his face head-on. Unable to process the swirl of feelings, he’s caught between shock and blankness.

“I befriended you because you’re good company. Because hanging out is fun, I invited you along and got this far. If it was shallow, I’d have come alone.”

Solo travel is inconvenient, sure—but I’m no saint who treks with people I dislike, nor fool enough to camp with strangers.

I brought him because I trust him and knew the trip would be fun.

“So is it only my side? Why did you come, fight beside me? Am I just a comfort toy labeled ‘friend’ to fill your loneliness?”

I grip his shoulders, noses almost touching. His tear-blurred eyes blink, and a frayed whisper escapes.

“No, Erich—anything but that.”

Tears fall; he looks back firmly, swallows a sob, and forces out steady words.

“I do think of you as a friend. At first, yes, I spoke because you knew nothing. But now it’s different… I wasn’t afraid of being hated by a friend—I was afraid of being hated by you.”

Strength fills the arms that only hugged back; his hands clutch my shoulders as if to vouch for the truth of his words.

“Then what am I to you, Mika?”

“…A friend, Erich. You’re my friend.”

“Right, my friend—that’s plenty.”

We respect each other’s stations, sure.

But I’ve never treated him first as a promising academy auditor, nor has he treated me as a page with the right connections.

“We’re friends.”

“Ah… Erich, thank you, thank you…”

“Being friends isn’t something to thank me for, my friend.”

“Even so… even so… thank you.”

I hug the sobbing boy again and pat his back, like calming my sister.

Ignoring the ache from his desperate grip, I kept at it until he cried himself to sleep.

【Tips】The Triple Empire’s tolerance and solidarity toward non-humans grew from centuries of bloody strife fought together. Proving they could build and defend one nation side by side, its people formed a civic identity that lets even newcomers settle in time.

Morning came, painfully awkward after such syrupy drama.

TRPG sessions can go overboard too—listening to the recording later makes you bury your face in a pillow. Hot-blooded or pure-heart scenes, hearing a “Top-Three Confession”–grade speech afterward is agony.

“Morning… my friend.”

More so when you wake up in the same bed as the recipient.

“Ah, morning. Uh, Mika, about last night…”

The embarrassment is lethal. Nights are bad; weird moods take over. Handouts or scenarios penned on that high make you cringe in daylight—same for late-night project proposals.

Nothing I said was false, but surely—surely there was a slicker, more adult way to handle it!

“Say no more, friend. I understand. Nothing has made me happier. I’d love to hear it again, but it’s not something you repeat, is it?”

Gah—he’s totally misreading the vibe. Has his entire thought pattern gone full opera? If he starts spouting stage lines in daily life, he’ll grow into one dangerous charmer…

“Come, let’s partake of breakfast.”

Misreading friend drags me out of the shared bed.

Arm’s-length already close, he inches half a step nearer as we head to the same cook-shop. It’s quiet—makes sense; we overslept, and Empire folk often take a skimpy breakfast, sometimes just tea and a bit of cheese.

Same freckled waitress with a dazzling smile brings the five-as set: a slice of black bread, one white wurst, a knob of cheese, a dried apricot. Decent for the price.

We add a two-as pot of black tea—roasted dandelion, not chicory—and eat leisurely. With the merchants already gone, the place is ours.

“Oh, Mika, I’ve got a proposal.”

“Hmm? Name it, my friend. Anything—yes, even another bath invite.”

Next time together—no, focus! I steady his euphoric grin and propose the adventure.

“An adventurer’s hermitage in the woods, eh…”

Nibbling a cut wurst, he chews my idea too.

The job was one drakhma just to reach here; taking this add-on is his call. Given his high spirits, I feel a tad guilty, because…

“Sounds fun. I’ll come along.”

A friend who’d bare himself again on request won’t refuse. I warn him about bears; he flashes a heroic smile—all the more reason not to let a friend go alone.

How long until this mood drops? For now, any request needs careful wording, or he’ll amass black history—his, not mine.

Swallowing a hint of dread with breakfast, we prepare. A day’s walk, a few hours on horseback. We’re already outfitted for camping; just water and rations to buy.

“Hmm, steep prices.”

“Seasonal.”

The market beside the food lane brims with autumn cheer—and demand-driven markups. Caravans surge now; guards and adventurers snap up preserved food. Any caravan lacking a preservation mage pays one or two as extra everywhere.

“How much travel cash left?”

“Uh, after lodging and the stall tax, we need to keep… this much.”

“So food budget is roughly…”

Counting coppers from the communal purse—our idle silvers hide in boot insoles—the dried-goods stall’s rat-goblin owner sighs loudly.

“Can’t be helped. I’ll shave a bit off for the brats.”

Thick northern accent clicks between long teeth. Different melody from southern or court speech, I decode it slowly, but he’s clearly pitying our thin wallet.

“Ettaga!?”

Next shock: Mika answers in that same accent, naturally.

“Sa’ta na, sa’ta. No coin? Can’t be helped.”

“Ogini na!”

“Namo iigara, motteke motteke.”

They haggle fluently, scoring the usual price. He always speaks polished court speech, but if he’s northern, the dialect’s no surprise. Lord Fayge switched tongues as smoothly, and back home Kansai coworkers sounded different on phone and at the bar.

Staring at Mika’s beaming, bag-hugging face, I watch him go crimson and bury it deeper.

“I-I spoke that way till I learned court speech… Is it that weird?”

Caught off guard, I find it… well, cute.

Cash moves hearts, huh? The moment I learned he’s not strictly male, these thoughts pop right up. Frankly, they popped up even before…

“No, I’m impressed. Hearing an unfamiliar dialect used so naturally is amazing.”

“Really? You think so?”

“Sure. To me it was practically a foreign language.”

“Someday, let’s go together. So many beautiful places! In winter you can cross the North Ice Sea on foot; the aurora leaves you breathless. A bit from my home, but the Great Icefall is a must-see—truly staggering.”

Mika paints northern landmarks with pride. Locals rarely sightsee at home, but he seems to have gone everywhere he could. His profile glows with quiet pride.

“Sounds wonderful. I’d love to see them.”

He spoke so painfully of that land, yet he still loves it. Otherwise he’d just bring his clan to the capital after making it big.

“Then someday… I’ll take you there, Erich. Nothing but ice, snow, sheep, maybe reindeer.”

“I’ll look forward to it.”

We seal a little promise: to roam the far north someday, and to go once he returns triumphant.

First step—finish this small adventure.